


Last Friday Night

by Ragga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Good, Humor, Las Vegas, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Steter Week, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: The one where there is a potential garden gnome uprising, Peter and Stiles go to Las Vegas and a Katy Perry song is re-enacted.





	Last Friday Night

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post on Tumblr I can no longer find and a giggly headcanon spree with GK. Thanks a lot, babe! ;) <3
> 
> Seriously though, I wanted to do something for Steter Week and this ended up as a bit of a mash-up of a few themes and a subconscious re-enacting of a Katy Perry song. Oh well. I hope you enjoy, I know I loved writing this!

“So what are we looking for today?” Stiles asked after Peter pulled to a stop next to him and threw him a helmet. “Your text only said to pack an overnight bag and keep the weekend free. Thankfully it’s summer vacation so that wasn’t hard to arrange.”

“There have been rumors of an… enabler that is trying to cause a supernatural uprising,” Peter said.

“That’s a strange word to use,” Stiles said even as he made sure the helmet was secure on his head. “Enabler. What are they enabling?”

Peter put Stiles’ bag inside the motorcycle’s storage and hummed. “Garden gnomes.”

Stiles paused, incredulous. “Garden gnomes,” he said flatly. “You aren’t seriously saying that _garden gnomes_ are planning to stage a revolution or something.”

“No, they are not,” Peter said. He jumped back onto the bike, leaving enough space for Stiles to fit behind him. “They are just as hollow inside as the inspired decorations middle-class white people enjoy putting on their yards. Idiots, the lot of them. Someone has been putting ideas in their heads and I’ve tracked that person to Vegas.”

“Right,” Stiles said, shaking his head. He climbed behind Peter and leaned back. “I assume Derek doesn’t know?”

“And I hope Scott doesn’t either.”

“We have to get them to join packs at some point,” Stiles sighed. “Or even an official alliance would be nice. I’m sick of doing all these things behind their packs.”

Peter snorted, revving the engine. “Derek did say you would have space in his pack.”

“Yeah, and where would that leave Scott?” Stiles pointed out. “He has Allison, true, but she’s not known for her short temper for nothing. And Lydia has a long memory.”

“Derek is still annoyed that Jackson chose her over him.”

“He should have had his alpha growth spurt sooner. Thank fuck he managed to do Isaac, Erica and Boyd better in the end.”

Peter hummed in agreement. “You have everything?” he asked.

“Yeah. If I forgot something, you’ll buy them for me, won’t you?”

“I’m not made of money, you know.”

“No, you are made from smirk and fine muscle and all the trouble,” Stiles cooed. “Like all good little schemers are. Your bank account, however…”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have an emergency stash somewhere?”

Stiles gasped. “What are you suggesting? I am just a poor student in this lonely, wide world!”

“Someone has daddy issues of the sweeter kind,” Peter said but Stiles could hear his amusement. The engine roared to life. “And I don’t even get to enjoy the benefits. You good?”

“I provide you company with my cunning wit and sarcasm!” Stiles declared. Peter threw him a look over his shoulder and Stiles couldn’t hold a straight face anymore. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around Peter’s middle. “Yeah, I’m good.”

To be honest, if Peter _did_ approach him in that way… He hadn’t been kidding about Peter’s built. And he had enough snark and bark to keep up with him. If only-

Stiles couldn’t even finish his thought before they were already speeding away.

***

Stiles stretched his arms so high his back cracked.

“I’m so stiff,” he whined. Contrary to his words though his feet felt all wobbly from having been hours on the bike. No doubt his hair was all gross too. He glanced at Peter who removed his helmet as well.

Ugh. Despite the trip and sweat and heat he looked just as unfairly good as ever in his leather getup next to his swanky motorcycle. People were staring at him again, peeking through the fence, Stiles thought contemptuously.

Sometimes Stiles just hated werewolves and their perfect everything.

“Let’s go check in the hotel,” Peter said. Stiles glanced at the fancy building next to the guarded parking lot.

“Four stars?” he guessed. He narrowed his eyes and corrected himself, “No, five?”

Peter sniffed, tilting his head up haughtily. “As if I would stay in anything lower than that.”

Stiles couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face. “And you wonder why my friends in college think you are my sugar daddy.”

“I’m sure you didn’t do anything to encourage the thought,” Peter said, his lips twitching. Stiles widened his eyes into a picture of innocence even if his grin turned a shade from shit-eating.

“Who, me?” he said. Peter snorted. He fished their bags from the storage before stuffing their helmets in the same space.

“Come on. Let’s change and head back to the streets. I have an address we can scope out.”

“Sure. Bring my collection with me?” Stiles said, hefting his bag over his shoulder. They walked past the guard tipping his head at them. Peter’s smile was all teeth.

“Just in case.”

***

“Climate change is a real problem!” the witch insisted, her arms crossed and brows furrowed. Next to her, her vampire friend nodded enthusiastically.

“The sun is very bad for us,” he reasoned. He glanced at the witch adoringly as she beamed at him. Stiles and Peter exchanged disgusted looks.

“And you decided to stage a gnome uprising to stop… global warming,” Stiles said dryly. The witch brightened.

“The gnomes care about the environment!” she declared. “The gardens are their homes! With the sun burning too hot, it will destroy their natural habitat and deplete our water resources. We cannot allow that to continue!”

“I should have stayed dead,” Peter muttered to himself. The vampire looked at him, eyes wide and suddenly delighted.

“Are you one with the night as well?” he asked. Stiles laughed even as Peter looked pained.

“He is one of those who go bump in the night,” Stiles agreed. Peter sent him a look that promised retribution later.

“I am afraid I will have to ask you to cease your… efforts,” Peter said slowly. “While hurting the guilty parties with what they care about is… an admirable goal, that will not stop the problem itself.”

“But we have a plan,” the witch said. She fumbled with the papers on the table and drew out a garish flyer depicting a sad sun and a smiling moon. “If the majority are part of the night, then we won’t have to worry about the sun anymore!”

Stiles felt a headache coming. He kept an indulging smile on his face but, _man_ , was it hard.

“Hayley- may I call you Hayley?” he asked. The witch- Hayley, as the flyer read, nodded. “Look at this room we are in,” he said. “How much electricity are you using right now? The city itself is using?”

She looked puzzled but did as he asked. The lights were on with the curtains drawn, as were at least five computers in the dank cellar. The fans attempted to keep the heat away but only managed to circulate the same hot air around. Stiles thought he could spot a small fridge as well.

“See?” Stiles said. “The problem isn’t the people who live in the sun. It’s the lifestyle we all have. I bet that even if the majority of people were supernatural or night owls, nothing would change.”

Hayley looked crestfallen. Her friend tugged her close, glaring at Stiles and Peter with a new reddish tint in his otherwise brown eyes. Peter flashed his own eyes in return. Stiles stuck his elbow into Peter’s ribs.

“But I thought so hard on this,” Hayley said sadly. “The nature and little people suffer so much.”

It was the same look Scott had when he was a kid and had never really grown out of, the one like Stiles had just murdered his pet bunny or something. It tugged his heartstrings and he cursed that he still hadn’t gained total immunity to the big guns.

Stiles sighed inwardly, his smile straining. “Then you just need to get the big people to listen. With the ever-growing heat, you have somewhere to start at. Think of greener alternatives. You two are not alone, are you?” Hayley and her friend looked at Stiles in alarm. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“It’s pretty clear. Five plus computers for two? Really?” he couldn’t help but say. He added, “Your cause is good! It’s just that, well, my father _the sheriff_ wouldn’t be able to approve of your methods. What if you directed your resources from an uprising into something more… peaceful? Perhaps find a way to lessen the carbon dioxide in the air or how to turn plastic into something greener. Trees! Oceans! Oceans need help. And sharks. I bet you could get a lot of people on board to help sharks. Fish are friends, not food, et cetera.”

Hayley’s eyes widened.

“They were just talking about banning plastic straws!” she said. She turned to the vampire. “Josh, we could get people to lessen the use of plastic! Like- like- glass bottles! That way we can help the forests and oceans, I read this article that said that only, like, 13 percent of the oceans remain clear of plastic, or was it as wilderness, and-”

She continued babbling and Josh the vampire watched her prattle with hearts on his eyes. Stiles shook his head and exchanged another look with Peter. The long-suffering pain on his face was hilarious.

While Stiles was all for greener lifestyle – hell, he thought recycling was dope and he had definitely lessened the red meat in both his and his father’s diet – he also thought the witch was being terribly naïve. The world might need the change, the people might want it too, but the majority weren’t ready to sacrifice everything they had gained or could gain when the one percent with most of the funds didn’t want to do their part either. It was so much easier to live the shitty life they had – because, hey, capitalism, fuck the poor – than the greener alternative which wasn’t always the most ethical choice either.

It was easier to be green when you had it all already and preach to those who didn’t.

Maybe these people would find an answer that would work. They were disgustingly cute and idealistic and Scott would probably like them immediately. Maybe Allison too, and Isaac, although his acerbic tongue might cause a few crashes here and there.

Stiles ended up giving them his number and they apologized about trying to go through things in less than legal way, promising to keep them updated on their progress to enhance the greener lifestyle for the betterment of all creatures, not just the garden gnomes and other night walkers.

It was already past dinner time and the sun didn’t look like it was going to relent its top spot for hours yet. Stiles was a little hungry, but more than that-

“I need a drink,” Stiles whined. “Peter, I need _all_ the drinks.”

“They were not what I was expecting,” Peter admitted. “The information I gathered suggested a far more… sinister cause.”

“Well, for once it wasn’t really a racist issue or anything. Speciecist. Specist. Um.” Stiles scratched his jaw. “Or violent. I took my emergency bag with me for no reason. I’m sort of glad for that, even if I wanted to make them choke on mistletoe once or twice.”

“How is your magical training going by the way?” Peter asked. He placed his arm around Stiles’ middle, directing him somewhere where there was hopefully all the alcohol. “I didn’t get to ask last time.”

“Yeah, the hydra was a bit much,” Stiles said. “You would think they wouldn’t find their way from Greece to Cali, but what can you do. It’s going well enough. Deaton’s still a bit too shady at times but at least he’s letting me loan all the books I want. I think he’s getting worried about the Nemeton. He’s said he’ll revoke the privilege if I ever return them signed though.”

“A sensitive policy.”

Stiles shrugged. “I guess so. I’m now so used to copying the necessary parts and just going to practice elsewhere. The camera function on my phone is my life.” He grinned widely as he remembered one of his experiments. “I managed to do that thing you asked by the way.”

Peter looked intrigued and almost eager. “Oh?”

“Yeah. See, the trick is to add runes for air and ice together. If you do, the fire is contained within the marked space.”

“Ice,” Peter mused. “I could have sworn it would be one of the earth ones.”

“Same,” Stiles admitted. “I tried pretty much all of them with no success. Earth is just too malleable as a force, especially when added to air runes. Ice might melt but it’s strong enough to cover for its flaws.”

“Because when it breaks, it breaks, and there’s no middle ground?” Peter suggested. Stiles nodded, his smile spreading wider.

“Exactly. Also it leaves behind no evidence which is a definite win. Vapors for life and all.”

Peter stopped, forcing Stiles to stop too. He blinked, surprised.

“What is it, Peter?”

“This needs celebrating, doesn’t it?” Peter smirked. “No bloodshed, weekend free and nowhere to be tomorrow.”

“You have a place in mind?” Stiles asked, a little eagerly. It was a rare occasion that he had the time to just spend it with, well, just with Peter. With his studies of mundane and magical nature and crises of all sorts, he barely had time even for himself.

It wasn’t that he always minded his busy schedule. It had sort of even led him to Peter. When Scott had been busy with Derek one day during their last year of high school, arguing about one thing or another, Stiles had met Peter by accident, just before the wendigo that had been stalking Stiles attacked them. They disposed the threat far too effectively for two people who hadn’t fought together before – on the same side at least – and it had first become a tentative alliance to keep Beacon Hills safe before it had evolved into what it was now.

If someone asked Stiles what that was, he wouldn’t be able to say. They were friends, that much was true, but sometimes it felt like they could be something… more. Stiles found himself far too often just watching Peter, admiring him in more ways than one, and he was sure he wasn’t the only one in the predicament. Peter had grown more touchy-feely as time went by and it was more due to their unspoken relationship – that was still a secret from their respective packs – that made him refrain from scent-marking Stiles like they both… wanted.

Stiles wanted Peter.

If only-

“Why do you think they even fight anymore?” Stiles wondered aloud.

“Derek and Scott?” Peter asked, always on top of his game. Stiles kind of loved it that Peter knew Stiles so well that he could follow his random thought patterns without prompts, amongst all the other reasons. “Also, we are already here.”

“So sure of me, I see,” Stiles said, a smile curling on his lips. “And yeah, them. Our packs get along well enough and its only the animosity between them that forces us apart.”

“I do know you, darling,” Peter said, leading him down the stairs to what looked like a basement bar. Peter flashed his eyes at the bouncer and he let them in with a nod. “And I suspect it’s more a habit now than the actual need to posture. They may even be slightly afraid of breaking the status quo. It’s not usual that a pack has two alphas. Alpha-like personalities, maybe, but straight up alphas? That’s rare. What if it doesn’t work? Who would be the one the pack would follow then? At least now they have clear division – even if Derek’s missing an emissary and Scott doesn’t have the right to the land.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Stiles said. “I wish they had some incentive to try.”

He took in the view of the bar, cozy enough with its décor but fancy enough to meet Peter’s standards. Stiles loved it.

“This a bar for supernatural and those in the know?”

Peter nodded. “There are usually a few in a city this big,” he said. “I liked this the best. I’m glad it’s still thriving.”

Stiles glanced at Peter, hearing the wistful tone of his voice, and reached over to squeeze his hand. Peter started, meeting Stiles’ gaze, and then pulling him towards the bar. There were other customers as well, some dancing and some just enjoying their drinks, and Stiles swore he could spot a few wolves, a couple of magic users and even a fairy amongst the revelers.

“What would you like today?” the bartender asked. She had her hair in a long, thick braid that reminded Stiles of Rapunzel. The top hat was a nice touch too.

“One… Wolf’s Bane special,” Peter said after glancing the menu. “And just a regular one for my companion.”

“Coming up. It’ll be twenty-five bucks,” Rapunzel said. She glided to make their drinks even as Peter fished a couple of twenties out of his wallet.

“I suspect this is one of the only places that can get you drunk,” Stiles said. He leaned against the bar curiously, examining all the bottles there. He could recognize a few but most were completely unfamiliar to him. “I hope that, despite the name, there’s no poison in your drink.”

Peter shook his head. “There isn’t,” he said. “It’s one of their strongest brews though.”

“Bane, a wolf’s bane,” Stiles said and snorted a laugh. “I get it.”

“There you go,” Rapunzel said, sliding two pints over to them. Peter passed her the bills.

“Keep the change.”

Rapunzel saluted him, casually ringing the register, and glided over to where a new customer was already waiting for her turn. Stiles took a sip of his drink. His eyes grew in surprise and he coughed. Peter laughed at his expression. Stiles watched as he shook freely and without any pressure holding him down.

He looked… gorgeous.

Stiles took another sip unconsciously which only made him cough again, but then he was joining in the laughter. He pulled Peter with him and they found an unoccupied booth, stealing it for themselves.

The drink was strong, Stiles had to admit. Probably why they cost so much. He was only half-way through and he had almost knocked his drink over twice. Peter was already on his second one, a flush decorating his cheeks. He looked more alive and animate than Stiles had ever seen before. They were talking about everything and nothing at all, just sitting and laughing and teasing and-

And Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if he was seeing something no one had in years, if ever.

The trust Peter placed in him right now made him warm to his very core.

Stiles’ grip on his drink tightened and he chucked the rest of it down. Peter stared at him and Stiles knew what he just did would cost him greatly later. He didn’t care. He grinned sharply and leaned closer to Peter, the sweet scent of their drinks staining their breaths.

“Come dance with me,” he said.

Peter smiled slowly and he lifted a hand to trace Stiles’ cheek. Downing his drink, he took Stiles’ hand on his own. His step wobbled a bit and they both laughed when Stiles wasn’t in any better shape.

They met again on the dancefloor in the middle of all the bodies. Peter’s eyes glowed in the glittering lights and Stiles thought they looked like the most beautiful jewels in the whole world. He leaned in.

Their mouths met.

And then the music and grind of their bodies swallowed them whole.

***

Stiles slowly woke to the smell of smoke. He rolled over from his warm spot to a cooling one, groping at something that he dimly thought was supposed to be there. He frowned as his hands remained empty. That didn’t seem right.

Also this bed was far softer than the one he owned.

And this definitely wasn’t his pillow.

Stiles opened his eyes to slits and immediately regretted it. His head was pounding and the light- could someone just-

“-shut the sun, oh my god, someone please, just put the sun in a can and bury it,” he rasped.

He heard someone’s breath hitch loudly and he was pretty sure that was a muffled sob right there. Stiles immediately rose to sit and, nope, that was the worst decision of his life. He wasn’t a throw up drunk but now he felt like he had taken one too many. He felt both hangover and still drunk and whoa, was that table moving? It was clearly moving.

Oh, he was swaying. Never mind.

“Peter?” he said when the contents of his stomach were no longer insisting on seeing the cursed sunlight. “Peter, that you?”

There was no answer, just a small snap and thicker scent of smoke and another hitch of breath. Stiles slowly scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. He leaned against the wall and hauled himself towards the bathroom where he could see light coming out of.

“Peter?” he called out again, louder this time. “Peter? I’m getting worried here.”

When Stiles finally reached the bathroom, he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing. Peter was sitting on the floor with a piece of paper in front of him. There were burned matches thrown around him by the dozen and the cupboards were definitely a little signed. And-

Stiles squinted. Those were definitely wind and ice runes right there. Messy runes, ones that probably wouldn’t hold very much. That’s what the cupboards were claiming. He could almost hear the complains. Or was that just his stomach? It probably was just his stomach. Stomach, shhh…

“Just what have you tried burning?” he asked, trying to ignore the garbles coming from his belly. Peter stiffened and didn’t raise his head. Alarms sounded in Stiles’ ears and he slowly slid down to sit on the floor with him.

“Peter?” He reached for him but Peter flinched away ever so slightly. Stiles faltered.

“Did I- do something?” he asked. If he did, if he hurt Peter-

Stiles wouldn’t know what he would do. Even the idea _repulsed_ him and made him loath himself.

Peter shook his head vehemently. He met Stiles’ gaze and Stiles’ heart stopped for a moment. They were red-rimmed, his eyes, and there were dried tracks of what looked like tears going down his cheeks. He definitely wasn’t any more sob- _soberer_ than Stiles was.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” Peter said, his voice hoarse. Stiles blinked in incomprehension.

“Why would I leave?” he asked dumbly. “It’s… It’s still Saturday, right?”

He wasn’t missing an entire day, right?

“I tried to burn it,” Peter said, gesturing at the paper. Now that Stiles looked at it, it looked like a certificate of some sort. “I thought- if I did, you couldn’t leave me. But you warded it. You- you made it so it couldn’t be destroyed. And now. You’ll leave me now too.” Peter’s breath hitched again, a broken sob making its way through.

Stiles crawled to where Peter was sitting and slumped half on top on him.

“Why would I leave?” he repeated. “I’m not- you are here. I don’t want to go. Don’t make me go.”

Peter leaned heavily against him.

“I thought you couldn’t leave me without the receipt,” Peter said quietly. “You can’t return something when there’s no proof.”

Something about that made Stiles pause. He glanced at the certificate. His eyes widened as he took in the words in the dim light of the bathroom.

He licked his lips.

“Well,” he said. “At least we hyphenated. I’m not all too attached to Stilinski but how could I ever explain Stiles without it?” Then Peter’s words registered. “Wait, we are married. And you thought I would- what, instantly regret it?”

Peter’s muscles against him were coiled tight like he was ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Stiles felt hurt.

“How could you-?” he rasped. Peter winced, retreating- no. Stiles gripped Peter tightly and leaned in until their foreheads were pressed against each other.

“How could you ever think I’d want to leave you?” Stiles said softly. Peter’s eyes glowed in supernatural blue, and Stiles almost went cross-eyed trying to stare into them. “I- don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, Peter. Stay with me.”

“Those are my words,” Peter murmured. He swallowed heavily, the sound loud in Stiles’ ears. “I- I accepted it. That no one really stays. Too wild and rough. Mean. Cruel. Broken. I’ve heard it all. It was just time until I would be alone again.”

“Peter-”

“But then you happened.” Stiles felt all the air leave his body. “You didn’t leave even with everything- behind us. You stayed and stained your hands like I had to. You understood. And we- last night- I didn’t want it to be over,” Peter confessed hurriedly. Like he was expecting that Stiles would still be leaving him, that he was just prolonging the moment.

Stiles lifted his hand and placed it against Peter’s cheek. He rubbed the tear tracks there and sighed, inhaling the mix of their breaths.

“I don’t want to leave,” he said. He took Peter’s hand and pressed it against his bare chest where his heart beat. “I am not leaving.”

The hopeful look on Peter’s face was killing him. His stomach churned again but Stiles hushed it silent.

“You were not the only one who- who- sometimes, it feels like there’s something missing. Like- like there’s something you can’t fix anymore, broken since time im- immem- since long ago.” Stiles was quiet, taking comfort in the heat radiating from Peter. His voice wavered when he added, “Like you could be whole if- if- Peter-”

“Stiles,” Peter said reverently.

“I love you,” Stiles choked out.

Peter’s eyes brightened until they burned and then they were kissing. Stiles could vaguely remember the press of them from last night but the memory was wiped by the passion of the present. Peter kissed like he was drowning and Stiles was the missing air from his lungs. He kissed like Stiles was the only thing keeping him afloat.

And Stiles answered with just as much force. He pushed against Peter until he was leaning against the bathtub and Stiles fully climbed on his lap. His hands found themselves in Peter’s hair, still disheveled from sleep and unfounded grief. Peter’s fingers lingered on his neck, the other arm holding him still.

Only after the electric feel of their cocks touching reminded Stiles that they were, fuck, naked. He mumbled something against Peter’s mouth – he wasn’t sure what that was even himself – and rolled his hips. Peter’s nails scratched his back, the pain inside the pleasure grounding him. He fumbled, eyes close, until he could hold both of their cocks in one hand. Peter hissed and bit Stiles’ lip. He could taste the blood.

The blood they shared, the blood they shed, the blood that soaked the ground before them as they gave their all to those they cared for, who would never understand the sacrifices they had made.

Stiles felt his world shift and his back suddenly hit the cold floor. He was disoriented for a minute and when his wits came back to him he could hear the sound of retching somewhere above him.

Peter was leaning against the toilet, heaving hard, almost as hard as his cock still was. Stiles giggled at the absurdity, watching Peter’s abs flex under the pressure.

“I-” Peter rasped. “Am clearly not used to the same amount of drinking that I- once was.”

“You are old,” Stiles crowed. He lifted his hand and slid a finger down Peter’s cock in the lightest of touches. Peter shivered. “Bet you have a looooot to teach me, yeah?”

Stiles hand hit the floor and something very- papery. He felt around until he held their marriage certificate against the light.

“Hey, is it still legal if I used Stiles as my first name and not, you know, Mieczysław?” Stiles asked, squinting. “Because I like-like Stiles Stilinski-Hale _much_ better than that.”

“If not, we can just have a new ceremony,” Peter said, heaving one last time, before he collapsed against the wall. Stiles heard the toilet flush.

“We probably still have to. I don’t think my dad’s going to like the fact that he wasn’t present at my wedding very much,” Stiles said. He tilted his head up and pouted.

“Noooo,” he whined, staring at Peter’s half-mast cock. “Timberrrrr…!”

Peter laughed helplessly. “I would kiss you if it didn’t feel like I just swallowed the death itself.”

“More like threw him down the toilet.”

They both burst into giggles over that. Stiles blinked the tears from his eyes.

“May- maybe we, uh, could have this- con-ver-sa-tion,” he spelled slowly, “in the morning, yeah?”

Peter leaned forward and his neck twisted into a weird angle, his eyes narrowing, as he peeked past the bathroom door.

“It’s… nine. In the morning. I think.”

Stiles groaned. “Morning is when you wake,” he insisted. “Don’t be so- so- ugh. You know what I mean.”

Peter smirked like the little shit he was. Stiles pointed his finger at him.

“Not allowed to be sexy after I just saw you barf,” he said. “Illegal. I’ll- I’ll have it written in state law! No, feeeeederal, after Lydia becomes president.”

“Can’t convict me for my deeds today then,” Peter said. He stood up slowly and Stiles watched as his cock, still slightly hard, swung between his legs. His thighs looked _really_ good from this angle. His arms stretched and he brushed against them as Peter stepped over him to brush his teeth. When he was done, he reached for Stiles’ hands and pulled him up.

Stiles’ world swayed a little, but it was far better now that it was- before. Peter kissed him then, slow and sweet and minty, and it made Stiles’ toes curl and his heart grow at least three sizes.

“Bed?” Stiles whispered. Their foreheads touched and Stiles drank the sight of the soft look directed at him.

“Bed,” Peter agreed just as softly.

They tumbled out of the bathroom, lights still on, and fell into the bed. Peter pulled Stiles against his chest and Stiles hugged the arms around him. The rumbles against his back lulled him into the best sleep of his life.

***

When Stiles woke up again, it was to the afternoon sun warming the air and lips painting his body like a canvas. He arched to the touch, the last of his drowsiness fading away as Peter’s teeth dragged along his chest.

“I could- get used to this,” he said, hissing as Peter bit his side and suckled on the mark that would be staying there for weeks. He groped around, hands roaming over Peter’s wide shoulders, until he could get a good grip on him. As Peter left another mark on his abdomen, his grip on Peter’s hair tightened momentarily.

The exhale of Peter’s tickled his skin and he couldn’t help huffing a short-lived laugh. Peter paused in his movements and then Stiles felt a touch, light as a feather, move down his right side. His back snapped straight and he shrieked, the sound of it drowning in the loud bark of a laugh that Peter let out.

“Ticklish, aren’t you?” Peter said smugly. Stiles glared at him from his position.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned him. Peter grinned at him impishly and Stiles felt dread spill down his back. Peter’s hands were suddenly _everywhere,_ and Stiles couldn’t do anything but try to twist and turn under him. Peter was like a brick wall, however, and even when Stiles accidentally kicked him he wouldn’t move a muscle.

“Stop iiiiiit,” Stiles whined, breathless, as Peter continued his assault. He felt hotter than even the California heat could make him. “I can’t- I can’t _breathe_. _Peter_!”

With one last stroke Peter let him go. Stiles slumped on the mattress, exhausted and erection dying from the overload.

“Rude,” he mumbled, pout twisting his lips.

“Could get used to this, hmm?” Peter said, blowing at Stiles’ navel. Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

“Don’t you dare,” he threatened. “Or I’ll get a divorce.”

Peter’s eyes widened for a moment but the devilish smirk returned after Stiles’ heart stuttered at the lie.

“No you won’t,” Peter said, delighted. Stiles’ pout melted away as Peter’s obvious pleasure radiated from him.

“Don’t you test me, mister,” Stiles said, playing it up. “I’ve already got your last name and a grip on half of your fortune!”

“Oh no, what will I ever do,” Peter deadpanned. “Your grand master plan has been revealed.”

“Damn right,” Stiles sniffed as obnoxiously as possible. When Peter traced his ribs in revenge he shrieked again.

“Alas, I know your weak spot,” Peter teased him. “You shall never get away with anything.”

“Damn it, I knew I didn’t read the small print!”

They chuckled, enjoying the quiet afternoon (“It’s morning!” Stiles protested) washing over them. Peter’s fingers lingered on Stiles but with enough force that the goosebumps disappeared and Stiles could relax under his ministrations.

On the spot over his right hip, just as the sheet fell off him, Peter stopped. Stiles opened his eyes and lazily watched as Peter stared at the mark there.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Peter said. His fingers caressed the small cluster of flowers he found there, surrounding a fish hook of all things. Stiles’ breath caught as Peter leaned down and tasted the skin there with his tongue.

As he pulled his head away again, he asked, “What does it represent?”

Stiles hummed, his fingers lingering on Peter’s arm.

“It was a drunk tattoo,” Stiles confessed. Peter’s brows rose at that.

“Doesn’t look like one,” he pointed out. The flowers were well made with delicate details and shading, a beautiful contrast to the simple fish hook.

“My college buds dared me to get one. It’s like one of those things that you are supposed to regret, you know? And still remember fondly even after years. We passed out before we could make the trip to a parlor but after that, well, I already had made a design and it just felt _right_. It’s smaller than what I had originally drawn because I couldn’t handle being under the needle longer.”

“Did it hurt?” Peter asked. Stiles shrugged as well as he could, still mostly laying down.

“Some. I admit to having taken a few shots of courage before going to the final appointment.”

Stiles reached down to trace the outline.

“The fish hook is for my dad. It’s his favorite hobby even if he rarely has the time to go. My mom… she loved gardening,” he said quietly, and then chuckled. “If she was still here she definitely would be telling me how aubrieta are not supposed to be this shade of blue. But they were pretty and delicate yet also hardy and, best of all, evergreen. They were my mom’s favorite.”

His trembling hand brushed Peter’s cheekbones, eyes meeting Peter’s.

“Like this shade is mine.”

Peter was gobsmacked. Stiles felt the flush crawl up his chest and neck, blotching his skin in a way he knew wasn’t attractive at all.

“It didn’t have to mean anything,” he said. “No one would ever care past the tattoo itself and, well, I don’t often let people see my hips if you know what I mean? I just- I may have hoped, wished, for more than we had for a while. More or less subconsciously.”

Peter crawled up until he and Stiles were face to face and Stiles’ body was completely blanketed by Peter’s own.

“I will treasure you,” Peter swore, and Stiles’ heart skipped a beat before it started racing again. “As long as you will have me.”

“Derek and Scott will have a reason to unite now, huh?” Stiles joked but it fell flat under the intense look Peter bestowed upon him.

“Even if they never will,” Peter said, leaning over and pressing his lips on Stiles’ forehead in the gentlest, most loving kiss he had ever received. “I’ll never let you go until you so demand.”

“So… never?” Stiles questioned, the beat in his chest skipping in hopeful joy. Peter’s answering smile was something Stiles locked in his heart and threw away the key to, vowing to remember it until the end of their days.

“I’ve always had a taste for the all-consuming.”

***

“Hey!” Scott greeted Stiles as he and Peter made their way to Derek’s loft. “Good, you got my text.”

“Yeah, dude,” Stiles grinned, and found himself pulled into a hug. He could hear Scott sniffing but ignored it, adding, “What’s the emergency?”

“The garden gnomes of all things were acting all weird and stuff up until today. Like, dude, I swear I could see them carry small spears on them!” Scott said. He pulled away slightly, just enough to be able to look Stiles all over. His brows furrowed and he glanced at Peter who hadn’t left Stiles’ side.

“You smell weird,” he declared and then clarified, “Like Peter.”

Derek crossed his arms, silently demanding explanation, amidst all the curious and cautious looks.

Stiles stepped away from Scott, burrowing himself into Peter’s side.

“We went to take care of the threat. A bunch of green left-wingers led by a witch and a vampire. Here’s their number, they wanted to keep in contact. They are based in Las Vegas,” Stiles told them, handing Scott a piece of paper. He took it, bemused, staring at the digits there.

“You… went to take care of them?” Derek asked slowly, but his question was drowned under Allison’s demand to know, “What do you mean by that?”

“That means, miss Argent,” Peter said languidly, smirk playing on his lips. “That while you were squabbling here, Stiles and I went to take out the threat like oh so many times before.”

“Which, by the way, needs to stop,” Stiles said. “You really need to kiss and make up. It’s been, what, five years, and while the area is relatively stable, we need a united pack to finally balance the Nemeton. Deaton’s been getting more worried lately, and while I was okay with doing the dirty work, it’s not really getting us anywhere.”

“But,” Scott said, blinking. “There hasn’t been, like, almost any threats since-”

“Since last year of high school, I know,” Stiles said. “That’s when Peter and I started.”

“Behind our backs?” Derek rumbled, the eyebrows of doom closing in together to form one long squiggly caterpillar.

“You would know, nephew, if you were better connected to the land,” Peter said helpfully. Derek’s sour look told Stiles that he didn’t really appreciate it.

“So yeah,” Stiles said, shrugging. “We went to take care of them, or more like convince them that using the garden gnomes to stop global warming isn’t the most viable strategy, and since that was over in, like, two hours after we arrived, we decided to take the weekend off. And then Peter tried to burn our marriage certificate. Rude.”

“Good luck trying to return me without the receipt,” Peter said, and Stiles could sense the amusement pouring from him. He grinned a little himself.

“The _what now_?!” Scott yelled, and Stiles couldn’t help himself anymore. He burst into a laughter, the sound of it drowning in the resulting chaos. Peter’s arm was warm and comforting around him, and Stiles got a whiff of his cologne and their combined scent underneath it.

It reminded him of home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have the time to spare, I'd love to know your thoughts :)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://hali-ra.tumblr.com/).


End file.
